Night 44: Decontamination Room 1

[screwthegods]

[From here]

The room appeared exactly the same as it had the previous two times Homura had been there. He stepped inside, wary of anything that might be lurking in the shadows, particularly any wanderers from the next room. He knew just how difficult any of those creatures were to defeat; with only a fraction of their group present, even experienced warriors like Homura and Kenren would be seriously injured.

"Stay here. Do not open that door." Homura pointed to the very room he'd be sending Nataku and one other into shortly. Okita would still be coming, but Homura knew how short the night could be. His friend would just have to forgive him for "starting the party without him," as it had been put.

His order in place, Homura moved back into the hall to wait for the others.

[And back to the same thread as above.]

Comments

[mitase.livejournal.com]

Everything had happened so quickly that Hanatarou had barely registered any of it: he'd heard the sound that ghost had made, caught a glimpse of Taura with masses of unfortunately-familiar dark hair, and then suddenly it was a blur. Someone had grabbed him, his sash cutting uncomfortably into his stomach with the force of the pull, and dragged him away from that hall and through a door with barely enough time for him to realize that it had been opened. Unlocked, and with a key? There were keys to these rooms?

And then, after a second, Homura's comment about who guarded the room they were entering registered, and Hanatarou once more had reason to worry. If the nurses and orderlies were bad enough that Homura didn't want people just wandering in here, how bad would it be for those who had deliberately entered? It seemed entirely possible that the History Club really would need a healer; he only hoped that the healer would be able to help.

He gave a slight, belated nod and stared at the door after Homura left, stunned completely into speechlessness. All right, he was away from the ghost. But was he about to jump into the metaphorical fire?

[mitase.livejournal.com]

[dropping down from above thread]

Hanatarou moved back to one side of the room, trying to find somewhere that he wouldn't end up underfoot or something. He kind of felt bad for Taura and Kenren, being stuck with him while the others got to go off and fight. Hopefully they wouldn't be too annoyed with him because of it.

Without even thinking about it he reached up to take hold of the band across his chest, hands closing tightly about it as if for reassurance. Hopefully if he was needed he'd be able to do something useful. If nothing else he had the supplies in his bag to patch up any injured, so he wouldn't completely be just a burden on the group.

[ninelivesonce]

[back out from here]

Ayumu was no real burden on Taura's shoulder, now that she was out in fresher air and could breathe again. After a few gulps, she looked around. Hanatarou had actually followed orders rather than running after a fallen comrade, which was one less thing to worry about. He was repacking a pillowcase -- next time, Taura would bring one herself. Looting hadn't been on her list of expected tasks since they hadn't been sent for metal.

Hang on, hadn't Ayumu had a bag? Yes, there it was. It turned out to be full of other makeshift weapons; that certainly needed to come with them. Taura tucked her prize in among them, and rebalanced her load. The air here wasn't completely scrubbed; Ayumu would recover more quickly outside, but they were also behind a locked door here; nothing but the enemy they knew could bother them. Tactical retreats were not a Dendarii speciality; missions tended to succeed, brilliantly, or not at all.

So the question was what needed to happen to make this a brilliant success? That was what Miles would do. Three things; no casualties (on their side), objective met, and a return to base. Stealth wasn't a priority; Homura hadn't hidden his possession of the key from the things that had once been medtechs. They'd gotten something; she didn't know what the primary objective had been, past those things, but they'd met the secondary. No-one was dead; there were enough people mobile to evacuate the injured; that was two. Now they just needed something to cover their retreat.

Miles...Miles would have something set up. Another prong, another feint, a conveniently located drop shuttle or explosive charge, while she and her men ran for it. All they had was a dark corridor and a spooky hair-thing -- oh! Oh oh oh! Did the monsters have a communications network? It didn't look like it. All they needed was to get back to that hallway and they could get lost in the crowd.

She walked over to the door, ready to get out of this dead end before it became a literal description.